A purging of happiness

This poem was written by an anonymous poet and read out at our poetry night by vice-chair Rebecca.

A binding in the Throat -

Metallic mercury mucous blocks Truth.

A pounding inside the Head -

His steel capped boots push and press and crack

The Skull; my Perion.

The fizzing in my Lungs -

Cyanide soup is my oxygen.

A slashing in the Stomach -

Sardonic Satanic slugs slither out from in.

Spewed are thy Organs -

The Intestine, a worm unravelling defencelessley.

Help.

Plonk goes the Liver and Dong goes a Kidney.

What is left?

You have it all.

He has it all.

Him.

A scarred nostalgia for thee, yet a

pleasant narcissim for He.

Now He asks for my Heart, but He took that

portion years ago.

He overpowered it in seconds.

He rusted it in minutes.

He covered it with blistering hate.

And then -

He burned it in wood and fire.

He can have what sits in its place, yes.

The only yes I have ever and will ever give to

Him.

But that is not a Heart, not anymore.

That is a shrivelled reality of He -

It is imprinted with His purge on my childhood.

For this Life is not a Life but an Episode.

That plays over and over and over and over -

We wait for an applause, a record or a pause

We pray that She may take it away

Those melancholy memories

That play in My chapter of a thousand page

book

Hundreds feel the soreness of soiled court

And there is help

In the custom of Victim Support

Friends, don't suffer the torment

For although you may want to lament

Now is the time for us all to ascent

Together.

To the prosperous land of beauties

To the field of finer daisies

There I found my missing Heart

In my friendship and my family.

For it was never taken, just forgotten.

There is light in All darkness

And you Will find it,

My friends.

Never give in and never let them win.